The Heart of the Storm
by KarmaRed
Summary: AU: When Molly's sixteenth birthday comes around, she finally discovers why her uncles have been so secretive. Based on Disney's Frozen
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Hi, guys! So this is my first fanfiction. I'm not going to be one of those people who says something along the lines of "This is my first fanfic so be nice." Treat mine like you would any other fanfic.**

**This fic will include most of the songs from Frozen. I thought it would be fun to imagine how they would go in this universe, so I'll leave that bit up to your imagination :)**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters. I also don't own Frozen or its songs. They all belong to their respective owners.**

The multicolored lights rippled across the night sky when Molly awoke. Excitement filled her tiny, five-year-old body when she noticed the rainbow lights filtering in through her bedroom window. Jumping out of bed, she ran lightly to her door, opening it slightly to peer out. When she concluded that no one was nearby, Molly threw the door open, not bothering to close it as she rushed down the hall.

When she reached her destination, Molly carefully pushed the door open. She tiptoed over to the lone bed in the room, where she knew the twins slept. Climbing up from the foot of the bed, Molly crawled toward the pillows and wedged herself in between the boys.

_"Psst!"_ she hissed playfully. "Wake up! Wake up, wake up, wake up!" With each _wake up_ she patted each of the brothers on the shoulder.

"Molly, go back to sleep," one of them groaned. Molly guessed it was Sherlock; he was always grumpy when she woke them up.

Persistent, Molly rolled over onto Sherlock and stared at the ceiling. "I can't!" she huffed. "The sky is awake, so _I'm_ awake, so we have to play!"

"Go play by yourself." With a massive shove, he pushed Molly off of him and onto the floor. "Or better yet," he added as an afterthought, "go play with Mycroft."

Molly sighed, annoyed. She never liked playing with Mycroft; he was too old, and thought her games were childish. The only other family member living in the castle, other than her father, was her aunt Enola, who was only a baby. Sherlock and his brother, Tom, were the only children in the castle who were her age. Refusing to admit defeat, though, she grinned mischievously and trotted around to the other side of the bed, where Tom slept. She hopped up beside him and pulled one of his eyelids open, peering into the sleepy eye. "Do you wanna build a snowman?"

She let the eyelid fall, but instead of ignoring her and falling back to sleep, both of Tom's eyes opened, a playful spark lighting up in them.

Within a minute, molly was dragging Tom down the hall, giggling hysterically and chanting, "Come on!" Tom was trying to hush her, to no avail. Sherlock was following the pair, pulling on a blue robe while muttering something about sleep. Molly ignored him.

The trio reached an empty ballroom and Molly stopped in the middle of it, turning to Tom. "Do the magic!" she pleaded. "Do the magic!"

Sherlock pulled the massive doors closed, listening to the loud echo of closing doors as Tom's hands circled around each other, light blue snowflakes collecting as a snowball. "You ready?" he asked Molly, who nodded frantically. Tom let the snowball fly up toward the ceiling, where it shattered and sent thousands of tiny snowflakes floating back down to the ground.

"This is amazing!" Molly cheered, her tiny arms waving in the air.

Sherlock scoffed at the tiny display of magic. Refusing to be outdone by his brother, he ran out to join the two, determined to demonstrate his own skills. "Watch this!" he called out to Molly, catching her attention. He tapped one bare foot on the floor and watched as a sheet of ice spread across the room. He heard Molly's delighted laughs and felt warm inside.

Tom caught on to his brother's competitive air and shot Sherlock a sly look over Molly's head, making sure that the younger girl couldn't see. With one sweeping motion of his arm, Tom spun around and spread his magic throughout the room, making piles of white, fluffy snow collect around the edges of the room. While the elder twin was occupied making snow piles, Sherlock took the opportunity to stand back-to-back with Molly, hooked his arms to hers, and used his magic to propel them around the room. The more she squealed with glee, the faster he made them go.

When the two of them had a decent amount of speed built up, Sherlock unhooked his arms from hers, allowing Molly to slide across the floor. She didn't go far, though, since she crashed into one of the piles of snow Tom had built. Her head poked out of a Molly-shaped hole in the mound a moment later, her hair and face covered in snow. Giggling again, she hopped out of the hole. From across the room, Tom shot a blast of magic at them, forming another snow hill for Molly to land on.

Yet Molly wasn't finished. The moment her feet touched the snow, she was off again, flying through the air. "Catch me!" she squeaked.

"Hang on." Before Tom had a chance to react, Sherlock had already formed another snow hill, this one having the same effect as the last one. Trying to gradually lower her to the floor, he made the piles smaller and smaller. Tom, however, must not have noticed that, because he started adding his own magic and making the piles taller and taller. Trying to keep himself from panicking, Sherlock tried to build the snow piles faster. Molly, still caught in her own world, seemed to take this as a sign to keep going, and was actually going faster.

Now he couldn't hide his panic. "Wait! Slow down!" But Molly still didn't seem to hear him. She was moving too fast now, too fast for Sherlock to keep up. While side-stepping to not fall behind, one of his feet slipped out from underneath him, sending him crashing to the ice-covered floor. For a moment, he was filled with pure terror as Molly's oblivious laughter filled the air. As he struggled to sit up, he saw the girl fling herself off the pile of snow, aiming for something that wasn't there.

_"Molly!"_

An instinct to protect his family took over, and by the time his rational mind took over, it was too late. The ice blast he had subconsciously thrown hit Molly square in the side of the head, snapping her neck back upon impact. Sherlock heard her mutter a quiet, "Ow!" but by the time she hit one of the snow hills and rolled onto the ice, she was unconscious. Horror gripped Sherlock; she wasn't dead, was she? She couldn't be dead. Just a moment ago she had been so… alive. Breathing heavily, he pushed himself up and stumbled toward her, pulling her head into his lap as a strand of her light brown hair faded to a platinum blonde. Every place his toes had touched the floor had frosted over, freezing not just the floor but all the way up to the ceiling. Fighting back tears, Sherlock raised his head and cried out, "Sherrinford! Mycroft!"

It didn't take even a moment for his cries to be answered; it seemed that Tom had already rushed to get their older brothers. Sherrinford, the eldest of the brothers as well as Molly's father, broke the frozen door open and rushed toward where the two were huddled on the ground. "Sherlock, what have you _done?"_ Mycroft snarled. "This is getting out of hand!"

"It was an accident!" Sherlock wailed, no longer bothering to keep tears back. "I'm sorry, Sherrinford." He paused. "Sorry, Molly."

As Sherrinford pulled the shivering girl from Sherlock's arms, Mycroft's hand brushed her cheek. "She's ice cold," he murmured, a nervous tone in his voice.

"I know where we have to go," the eldest brother responded, his voice calmer and more collected. Giving a quick order to one of the passing servants to take care of Enola, he rushed to the library, frantically searching for a book. When he found it, he flipped it open to a marked page, a loose piece of paper fluttering to the ground. With the necessary information acquired, the four brothers rushed out with the unconscious Molly and snatched two horses, riding out from the castle, through the village, and into the forest. Mycroft rode one horse with Sherlock sitting behind him; frost decorated the grass the pair rode over. Sherrinford was clutching Molly to his chest off to their left, with Tom holding on for dear life. Under most other circumstances, Sherlock would have found the scene humorous.

Before too long, they reached a clearing in the middle of the woods. The soft, short grass was filled with what appeared to be moss-covered boulders that were scattered about. Sherlock did not recognize this place; he couldn't see anything that could help them in their situation. Why had Sherrinford brought them here? Were they lost?

It didn't seem that they were lost. As their horses came to a stop, Sherrinford hopped off of his, still holding his daughter close to him. "Please, help!" he called out to no one. "My daughter…"

As his voice trailed off quietly, the boulders began to tremble and rock back and forth. They began to roll to the center of the clearing where the five people waited, but nothing seemed to be moving them. Sherlock buried his face into Mycroft's side, not surprised when he found no comfort there. Yet Sherrinford stayed motionless; maybe if he didn't seem afraid, perhaps there was nothing to be afraid of…?

Suddenly, the boulders came to a halt at Sherrinford's feet. Before Sherlock's unbelieving eyes, he watched as they transformed into grotesque, misshapen creatures. Each one of these creatures stared up at the man with wide, surprised eyes. One of them spoke up: "It's the king."

This single statement caused ripples of discomfort through the crowd, whispers and murmurs filling the air with confusion and anxiety. The crowd parted as one of the creatures lumbered up to Sherlock and his family. _Trolls,_ the word echoed in Sherlock's mind. _That's what they are. They're trolls._ He could tell that this troll was more respected than the other trolls, since the crowd was letting him pass with ease. Plus, he had a cape.

"Your Majesty," the troll nodded respectfully to Sherrinford. He then reached out for Sherlock's hand. The young boy almost flinched away, wary that his powers may hurt someone else just like he had hurt Molly. "Born with the powers, or cursed?"

"Born," Sherrinford responded. "And they're getting stronger."

The troll moved on to Molly's still form, placing one large hand on her forehead. "You were lucky it wasn't her heart," he told Sherrinford in a grave tone of voice. "The heart is not so easily change. But… the head can be persuaded."

"Do what you must."

The troll nodded. "I recommend we remove all magic, even _memories_ of magic, just to be safe." He waved his hand in the air and Sherlock watched as the troll altered Molly's memories. They were no longer of snow in the ballroom, but of sledding in the forest, among other things. "But don't worry—I'll leave the fun." He replaced his hand on Molly's forehead, sighing in relief as the girl snuggled closer to her father with a content smile on her face. "She'll be okay."

Sherlock and Tom huddled closer. "But she won't remember we have powers?" Tom asked, his voice quivering.

"It's for the best," Mycroft told him. His words would have been reassuring if they hadn't been spoken in such a cold tone of voice.

The troll gestured to the twins. "Listen to me, boys," he began. "Your power will only grow." He spread his arms toward the sky, and Sherlock could see blue human-shaped figures in the vision. "There is beauty in it. But also great _danger."_ His voice shifted from reassuring to ominous as he said _danger,_ causing Tom to gasp. The blue vision suddenly flashed to red, scaring them both. "Fear will be your _enemy."_

Tom shuffled as close to Sherrinford as he could get. Unlike with Mycroft, the eldest brother put an arm around the terrified boy's shoulder. "I'll protect them. They can learn to control it, I'm sure," he told the troll confidently.

"Until then," Mycroft suggested, "we should lock the gaits; reduce the staff, limit their contact with people, and keep their powers hidden from _everyone."_ He exchanged a look with the king. "Including Molly and Enola."

* * *

When Molly woke the next morning, it seemed abnormally quiet. Judging by how high the sun had risen, the servants should have been at work hours ago, making their usual racket outside her door. She jumped down from her bed and wandered over to the door, pulling it open to peer out into the hall. No one was there. This was strange; there had to be at least _someone_ nearby. Deciding to take matters into her own hands, Molly began to wander around the halls, looking for company. After about five minutes, she could hear murmuring. She turned the next corner and caught a glimpse of a dark-haired boy peeking out from behind a painted door. He caught her eye for a couple moments, then disappeared behind the now-closed door.

_Tom._

Molly was confused. Tom had looked so distressed, his eyes full of longing. Curious as to why her uncle was so upset, she wandered up to the door and knocked. "Tom?" she called through the thick wood. "Are you okay?"

There was a pause. "I'm fine, Molly," came the reply, although his voice sounded strained. "Can you leave me alone, please?"

Now Molly was concerned. She didn't respond, but put her ear up against the door. From deep inside the room, she could hear the soft sound of someone crying. At first she thought it was Tom, but then she heard his voice speaking to the person crying, trying to calm the person down. The voice that replied to him was utterly miserable and broken, but Molly could still identify it as Sherlock. This had her worried; she couldn't recall _any_ time Sherlock had allowed himself to cry in front of anyone, even Tom. Not even when their father died at war, or when their mother died giving life to Enola. Molly decided to let them work it out themselves. There was no point in trying to get in the way of someone's distress. With this in mind, she turned and started walking down the hall to visit Enola.

The baby's bedroom door was already open when she got there. Molly peeked into the room and saw her father sitting in the rocking chair by the window, humming softly to his sleeping sister. Even though she couldn't see him, Molly heard Mycroft's voice from elsewhere in the bedroom, speaking softly yet urgently to Sherrinford. The response was a tired one, and Molly sighed. What happened to make everyone so upset?

* * *

A few days later, it snowed. Molly looked out the window at the clean, white fluffiness and started bouncing on her toes, feeling as though she were in a dream. She laughed and turned, bounding down the hallway toward Tom's and Sherlock's room. The door was closed, as usual.

"Tom? Sherlock?" she asked through the door, knocking cheerfully. "Do you wanna build a snowman? Come on, let's go and play!" She turned and slid her back down the door, sitting at the base. "I never see you anymore. Come out the door—it's like you've gone away! We used to be best buddies… and now, we're not. I wish you would tell me why!" Molly stood back up and pressed her eye to the keyhole, trying to see inside. "Do you wanna build a snowman?" Then she pressed her mouth to the keyhole. "It doesn't have to be a snowman!"

Sherlock's voice rang clearly from inside the bedroom, lifting her spirits briefly. "Go away, Molly."

Molly let the smile fall from the face as she sighed, crestfallen. "Okay, bye."

* * *

"The gloves will help," Mycroft told Sherlock and Tom one night by the fireplace. He had two identical pairs of white gloves, and had already put one pair on Tom's hands. "See?" he assured, enclosing Tom's covered hand with his own bare ones. "Conceal it."

"Don't feel it," Sherlock finished monotonously.

"Don't let it show."

* * *

As days turned to months, slowly turning to years, Molly had started playing with Enola to pass the time, especially when the small girl was old enough to wander around. Four years had passed since the twins had isolated themselves. One winter day was perfect for going outside to play, and she wanted to take Enola out to build her first snow fort. As she passed her uncles' bedroom, and idea formed in her head. Perhaps…

She knocked. "Do you wanna build a snowman?" she called through the door. "Or ride our bikes around the halls? I think some company is overdue; I've started talking to the pictures on the walls!" Molly had to hold back a chuckle, remembering the times her father or Mycroft would find her having a one-way conversation with a painting of Joan of Arc. "It gets a little lonely, all these empty rooms. Just watching the hours tick by…" She clicked her tongue, mimicking the sound of the grandfather clock she often sat by while playing with Enola.

No response. Not as if Molly was expecting one. The door felt cold.

* * *

"I'm scared."

Tom's horrified voice shook as though he were in pain. His gloved hands were clutched against his chest as he cowered in a frost-covered corner near the door. "It's getting stronger," he whispered.

Mycroft held his hands out toward his little brother. "Getting upset only makes it worse," he reminded the elder twin. "Calm down." With one shaking hand, he reached out toward the scared boy.

"No! Don't touch me!" Tom flinched away, trying to recede farther into the corner. "Please… I don't want to hurt you."

Sherrinford laid a hand on Mycroft's shoulder and the two brothers gazed on as Tom collapsed into a sobbing heap, curled in the corner. Sherlock was on the other side of the room, looking out the window as the snow gently fell to the ground. One snowflake among millions of others.

_Why can't we be like that?_ He asked himself constantly. _Why can't we just be normal?_

* * *

Molly had long given up the hope of her uncles coming out of their room, but she almost felt like screaming. Six more years had gone by; Enola was nine, and had never actually had a conversation with her brothers. What was worse was that the girl knew they existed, but she occasionally mentioned that she thought it was _her_ fault her uncles never wanted to see her. She thought they hated her.

One particularly miserable, snowy day passed and Molly passed their door once again, almost compelled to simply move on like she did every other day. Yet today was Enola's ninth birthday, and she wanted something special, not the usual grim "party." Hesitating slightly, Molly turned to the door and raised her fist. Very slowly, she knocked on the door, very little energy being put into that simple motion. The wood felt like ice, and it made Molly shiver and pull her clothes tighter around her.

"Tom? Sherlock?" she tried, her voice shaking. "Please, I know you're in there. People have been asking where you've been. They say have patience, and I'm trying to. I'm right out here for you; just let me in…" She turned and slid her back down the door to sit down, just like she had all those years ago. "What are we gonna do?"

With a sniffle, Molly took a deep breath and asked her question: "Do you wanna build a snowman?"

She broke right there, and sobbed.

* * *

_We're sorry, Molly. We really are._

Not a single snowflake moved in that bedroom for the rest of the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: I've gotta say, this isn't my favorite chapter of the story. But it is needed to continue, so bear with me :)**

A knock on the door woke Enola from her slumber. "Princess Enola?"

Enola made a sound that was between a snort and a groan, struggling to sit up in bed. Eyes still closed, she fingered around her face to latch on to the strand of hair stuck in her mouth. "Huh? Who is it?" she drawled.

"Sorry I woke you."

"What? No, I've been…" She trailed off, yawning widely. "I've been up for _hours."_ As she spoke, she began to drift off again. Enola dozed for a moment, snoring gently, before snapping back to awareness. "Who is it?"

"Um, still me. The gates will be opening soon; time to get ready!"

Enola stretched her stiff arms. "Of course!" she agreed. There was a pause. "Ready for… what?"

"Princess Molly's sixteenth birthday party?"

"Princess Molly's…" Enola repeated slowly, not quite grasping the situation. "…sixteenth birthday?" Her eyes fluttered open, fixing on a dark blue dress on a mannequin near her changing area. It took her a moment to fully realize what was happening. Then it struck her, and she was wide awake, gasping. "It's Molly's birthday!"

Only a minute later, the younger princess burst out of her closed bedroom, still fixing up her hair as she rushed down the hall. As she passed one of the servants, she grabbed the older woman by her wrists and they spun around. "It's Molly's birthday today!" she exclaimed to the woman, who simply laughed good-naturedly as Enola continued her parade. One more servant stood by one of the windows in the hall, swinging it open. Enola gasped in wonder.

"The window is open; so's that door!" Enola turned and ran towards the spiral staircase. "I didn't know they did that anymore! Who knew we owned a thousand salad plates?" As she sang, two lines of staff strolled into the room, each carrying a tall stack of plates. Enola snatched one from one of the stacks, examining it. When she was done, she replaced it and continued her dash down the hallway. On her way to the stairs, she slid through the recently cleaned ballroom, twirling as she did so. Reaching the staircase, she leaped onto the railing, sliding down with her legs swinging beneath her. "For years I've roamed these empty halls; why have a ballroom with no balls? _Finally,_ they're opening up the gates!"

At the bottom of the stairs, Enola stumbled off the railing, reaching out for one of the knight armors lining the walls. She grasped its hand and shook it vigorously. "There'll be actual, real-live people; it'll be totally strange…" The arm she was shaking suddenly fell off the armor, clattering to the ground loudly. Enola winced and glanced around nervously, hoping no one had seen that. Gingerly, she slid half the arm into the hole it had covered earlier, then she trotted away quickly, heading for an open window. She leaned out and took a deep breath, feeling refreshed by the clean air. "…but, _wow,_ am I so ready for this change!"

A ship passed by, the tops of the sails just barely visible over the castle walls. Enola climbed over the windowsill and onto a wooden platform held up by ropes. Using the ropes, she raised the platform, giving herself a better view of the ships sailing in. "'Cause for the first time in forever," she continued as she climbed higher and higher into the cool dawn air. "There'll be music; there'll be light. For the first time in forever, I'll be dancing through the night." To accent her enthusiasm, Enola began to rock back and forth on the platform.

"Princess Enola!" the voice of a staff member snapped from inside the castle. "Get down from there this instant!"

Enola huffed irritably, but lowered herself and the platform back down anyways. As she climbed back inside, the servant rambled on about her actions being _not very ladylike,_ and how she needed to _compose herself and behave._ Enola simply rolled her eyes and continued to run, not listening as the man called after her. She kept running, not having a specific destination in mid, until she burst through one door and found herself in the castle gardens, the place she and Molly had always played in as kids. Molly wasn't there at the moment, but Enola didn't care; in fact, she was glad to be alone.

"I don't know if I'm elated or gassy," she coughed, proving her point, "but I'm somewhere in that zone. 'Cause for the first time in forever, I won't be alone." She noticed a small rabbit sniffing among the flowers, "I can't wait to meet everyone!"

* * *

"What if I meet… _the_ one?"

Molly sighed, wrapping herself in one of the red curtains. "Tonight, imagine me gowned and all, fetchingly draped against the wall." She leaned against the massive window, fishing through the soft material for the golden rope and pulling it out, spinning it. "The picture of sophisticated grace." The end of the rope smacked her in the cheek. Molly unraveled herself from the curtain, making her way toward the dessert table in the room.

"I suddenly see him standing there," she continued to herself, facing a decorative bust. "A beautiful stranger—tall and fair." A plate of sweets sat on the table next to her. Nervously, Molly grabbed handful after handful, stuffing the treats in her mouth. "I wanna stuff some chocolate in my face!" Her voice was muffled from the sweets, but that didn't stop her.

Molly swallowed the treats. "But then we laugh and talk all evening," she sang, grabbing the bust, "which is totally bizarre—nothing like the life I've led so far!" As she sang, Molly started to spin, dancing to her own rhythm and spinning the bust through the air. The smooth surface slipped easily from her fingers, flying through the air and landing at the top of a massive cake. Molly quickly fled the room, heading for the gardens.

"For the first time in forever," she exclaimed as she burst through the door, "there'll be magic; there'll be fun. For the first time in forever, I could be noticed by someone." Movement caught her eye, and Molly turned to see Enola running toward her.

"And I know it is totally crazy," Molly continued, starting to run toward the younger girl, "to dream I'd find romance…"

They met in the middle and joined hands, spinning and singing together. "…but for the first time in forever, at least we've got a chance."

* * *

The mood in Sherrinford's bedroom was far from the girls' excitement. He had called his brothers together one last time before the party, specifically to share advice with the twins. Mycroft was there as well.

Sherrinford was facing a closed door, the one leading to the balcony overlooking the courtyard. He took a deep breath. "Don't let them in," he began, "don't let them see. Be the good boys you always have to be."

"Conceal," Mycroft continued, "don't feel. Put on a show." He grabbed Sherlock's hands and pulled the gloves off. Setting them on a table, he took the younger twin's hands in his own, as though they were about to dance. Almost instantly, an icy blue frost began to cover Mycroft's hands. Sherlock jerked away from his brother, clasping his hands together close to his chest. Mycroft glared disapprovingly at him, rubbing his own hands together to warm them and brush the frost off. "Make one wrong move, and _everyone will know."_

Sherlock glanced down at his hands, refusing to meet Mycroft's stare. Tom moved close to him and put his hands on his twin's shoulders, forcing the two to face each other. He snatched the gloves from the table and gently placed two fingers beneath Sherlock's chin, angling his head up. "But it's only for today," Tom reminded him, pressing the gloves forward into his brother's hands.

Sherlock looked up, his face gradually reverting back to its normal indifferent, emotionless mask, albeit with a tiny smile. "It's agony to wait," he agreed, sliding the gloves back onto his hands.

Sherrinford finally turned away from the door to the balcony, a satisfied, reassuring look on his face. He strolled to his bedroom door, his long, purple cape trailing gracefully behind him. When he reached the door, however, he did not open it. "Tell the guards…" he called, then hesitated, shooting one last glance over his shoulder back at his brothers. "…to open up the gates!" he finished, turning back and leading the three other men to the balcony, swinging open the doors to watch as the villagers filled the courtyard.

* * *

Molly and Enola watched eagerly as the massive gates were pulled open, allowing the sunlight to filter in. A huge crowd had gathered outside the doors, filing in one after another, murmuring among each other excitedly. Molly and Enola wove their way through the crowds and into the village.

"For the first time in forever…" _Don't let them in, don't let them see…_

"…we're getting what we're dreaming of…" _…be the good boys you always have to be…_

"…a chance to change our lonely world!…" _…Conceal…_

"…A chance to find true love!" _…conceal, don't feel, don't let them know._

"I know it all ends tomorrow," Molly sang, "so it has to be today!"

"'Cause for the first time in forever…" Enola added, "…for the first time in forever…"

_"Nothing's in our way!"_

Molly was cut off as something large and heavy slammed into her side, knocking her into a nearby empty boat. She let out a small shriek as the boat began to fall into the water, and she heard Enola's scared gasp. Before the boat completely fell, however, something slammed down on the rising side and pinned it to the ground. Upon being propelled back upwards, a strand of seaweed landed on Molly's face. When the boat finally settled, she lifted the plant from her eyes and glared upwards. "Hey!" she snapped, then caught sight of the thing that had knocked her down.

The force she addressed was a man sitting atop a silvery white horse, obviously one of high social class. His dark brown hair was cut short, contrasting his pale complexion. His eyes were a smooth chocolate brown, reminding Molly of her birthday cake. The man was a little older than she was, most likely in his early twenties—like Mycroft. His clothes were very fancy; this man was important. "I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed.

Molly was suddenly embarrassed. She chuckled nervously. "Hey," she repeated, sounding much more flustered and unsure than she had a moment ago. She suddenly realized the position she was in and struggled to sit up, flicking the seaweed into the water.

The man hopped off the horse and climbed into the boat, leaving the horse to anchor the boat to the ground and keep it steady. "Are you hurt?" he asked Molly, moving closer.

Molly shook her head frantically. "I'm fine," she reassured him.

The man signed in relief. "Thank goodness." He extended one gloved hand, offering to help her up. Molly smiled kindly, taking his hand. There was a moment when the two of them simply gazed at each other, before the man snapped back to reality and pulled her up into a standing position. "Prince James," he introduced himself, bowing slightly, "from the House of Moriarty."

Molly gasped—a prince! One that wasn't her uncle! "Princess Molly of London," she responded, curtsying.

"Princess?" the prince gasped, suddenly kneeling down on one knee at her feet, head bowed. "My lady!" His horse seemed to mimic his actions, because it, too, bowed respectfully. To Molly's horror, this action released pressure on the opposite side of the boat, causing them to tip precariously. James noticed the sudden shift immediately, and threw himself forward to catch Molly before she fell off.

"Thanks," she murmured gratefully. He smiled in return.

The horse noticed their position and snapped its leg back to the ground, leveling the boat again. James was thrown backwards and Molly was thrown forward, ending with her landing on top of him. Molly glanced up as she heard Enola's snicker and suddenly remembered that her father's sister was there. The younger glanced away innocently as Molly glared at her.

"Well, this is awkward," Molly remarked without thinking. Then she caught herself. "I mean, I'm awkward. You're not awkward. You're gorgeous." She backtracked as the two of them stood up, helping each other. "Wait, what?"

James chuckled. "I formally apologize for hitting the princess of London with my horse… and every moment after," he rushed, sounding flustered.

Molly shrugged his apology off nonchalantly. "Don't worry about it," she told him. "If you had hit Enola, or one of her brothers, then it would have been… _yeesh._ But at least—hello," she cut herself off as she came face-to-face with James' horse. She scratched it under the chin, earning a pleased neigh. "But luckily for you," she started again, "it's—it's just me." She stepped out of the boat and stood next to Enola, who was still snickering.

James chuckled again. "_Just_ you?" he repeated disbelievingly. "And you can call me Jim, by the way." Molly smiled at him and nodded, and he smiled back. There was a silence—not the awkward kind—until Enola started poking Molly in the side.

Molly spun around and looked at her aunt. "What?" she snapped.

Enola seemed startled by the sudden irritation. "The party?" she reminded Molly cautiously.

Molly's smile melted away. "The party… the party!" She started to stumble around, running into various objects lying around as she grasped for Enola's wrist. "I'm sorry," she rambled to Jim. "I've gotta go. We've gotta—I've gotta go." She and Enola started to run toward the castle, disappearing behind the buildings, waving over their shoulders. Jim waved back, and so did his horse. The boat started to tilt again.

"Uh oh," Jim muttered as the boat went crashing down into the water, taking him with it. When he broke the surface again, he looked off in Molly's direction and smiled.

* * *

Molly noticed, as she and Enola dashed through the streets of London, that the markets were nearly deserted. She occasionally saw one or two people scattered about, but there weren't any large crowds, like she would have expected in the village. _We must be late,_ she thought in horror. _The party must have already begun!_ The two of them ran blindly between the empty buildings, not noticing the man up ahead. The three people ended up knocking into each other, and the man was pinned to the ground by the princesses.

"Watch it!" he snapped, annoyed. Then he got a closer look at their faces. "Molly?"

His face was familiar. Molly wracked her brain for a name. "I'm so sorry," she rambled, realizing that she just repeated exactly what Jim had said to her when he had hit her with his horse. "I should have been looking where I was going."

The man wasn't offended in the least. He seemed more confused. "Molly, don't you recognize me?" he asked her.

She did, she knew. This man was familiar; it was some memory buried deep in her mind, from several years ago. "…uh…" she stammered, still trying to find his name.

The man rolled his eyes. "It's me, Greg," he told her.

The memories clicked. _Greg!_ Her childhood friend from after the twins isolated themselves, before Enola was old enough to play. Sherrinford had noticed her upset mood, and had spoken to the royal blacksmith, who had a son three years older than her. Molly and Greg had been best friends up until his father was killed in an accident in the forge, when Greg was fourteen. He had taken over his father's position, becoming the official royal blacksmith, but it had resulted in him and Molly drifting apart. She hadn't seen him since.

"Greg!" she exclaimed, throwing herself at him and wrapping him in a hug. He seemed taken aback by this sudden display of affection, but he decided that it was not unwelcome. He wrapped his arms around Molly's waist, pulling her closer. They stayed like that for a few moments, simply holding each other, before Greg let her go.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "We shouldn't… um…" he stammered, "…we shouldn't do that for long. Someone might see, and people _do_ talk."

Molly giggled. "Since when do we care what other people think about us?" she pointed out. He didn't respond. Molly knew she had stumped him; it had happened the same way when they were kids. "Exactly."

Greg seemed uncomfortable with this topic, so Molly decided to change it. "Are you coming to the party today?" she asked him.

His face brightened immediately. "Of course!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. "My little Molly, finally turning sixteen? I wouldn't miss this for the _world!"_

Molly bounced a little with excitement, ignoring the fact that he had just called her by her childhood nickname _little Molly._ "Well, come on, then!" she called at him, starting to pull him toward the castle. "Let's go! Come on, Enola!"

Greg wouldn't move. "Molly, I can't come yet," he told her, sounding sad. "I've got work to do in town first."

Molly let go. She had only seen him again for about two minutes, and he was already slipping away from her. "But I thought… after all this time, we could at least spend the day together." She couldn't keep her disappointment out of her voice.

"Hey now," Greg objected gently, "I didn't say I _wouldn't_ go—I said I would be there, right? I'll be there. I've just got some things I've got to do before tonight. I'll be there in a couple of hours, okay?"

Molly sniffed quietly, pulling herself together. "Okay," she agreed. Then, for good measure, she punched him lightly in the arm. "You'd better be."

"I will be!" he assured her. "Now go," he added, starting to guide her in the direction of the castle. "You'll be late for your own party, and I'm sure your father would _not_ be pleased with you. I mean, his sister's already gone." Molly turned, but couldn't find Enola anywhere. She must have gone back to the castle while the two friends were talking. Molly sighed; Sherrinford would give her a talk when she got back home.

She started to run again, dashing in the direction of the castle. Before she got too far, though, she glanced back over her shoulder and waved. "See you soon?"

"Of course!" He waved back, and then Molly was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Plot starts picking up in this chapter. I hope you're liking the story so far :)**

Music blared loudly in Molly's ears at the party that night. Couples twirled gracefully across the ballroom floor, beautiful gowns flowing among the crowd. At the front of the room stood Enola, looking nothing like her normal, eleven-year-old self in an intricate blue ball gown, watching the party calmly with three of her older brothers. None of the young men looked particularly happy, especially the twins; they looked as though they would bolt from the room right then and there. Molly gazed past them at her father, who was waiting for the current song to end.

When Molly had gotten back to the castle, Enola had already reached it. Although she was relieved that the younger girl had made it back home, Molly still had to listen to Sherrinford and Mycroft lecture her about how she had _let a young girl wander alone through a large village,_ where she could have _hurt herself_ or _gotten lost._ Molly almost pointed out how hard it was to lose sight of the castle, and that Enola _had_ found her way back home rather easily, but she was in enough trouble as it was and decided to not provoke her father's temper.

Greg had gotten to the party just as the sun had set below the horizon, like he had promised. Molly had been waiting outside the gates for hours, for the first time in her life grateful to get away from her family, when she had seen him dashing up the path toward her. Although his outfit was nicer than his usual working clothes, it wasn't anywhere near as high-class as the suits and tuxedos that the men at the party were wearing. When the two of them walked into the ballroom, it was almost comical with all the strange looks people gave them. Molly didn't care, and it didn't seem that Greg did, either. The two of them spent several hours together, catching up on the years they had been separated.

Yet now Molly could only occasionally spot him moving among the crowd, standing out awkwardly in his simpler clothes, but seeming to mingle effortlessly. Molly wished she could be out there with him.

The people stopped dancing suddenly and Molly was snapped out of her daze. She faintly heard a voice call loudly, "King Sherrinford Holmes of London!" Then she saw her father stroll proudly from his side of the front of the room, stopping in the center and facing the people. Molly panicked; wasn't she supposed to do something? She heard the voice call out again: "Princess Molly Holmes of London!"

Molly thought quickly and dashed toward her father and the announcer, nearly tripping over her pink dress at several points. She stopped several feet from the two men, waving nervously to the crowd as she came to a halt. Only Greg waved back as the announcer came over and grasped Molly by her arms and directed her toward her father, placing her next to him abruptly. She took an awkward step closer to him as Sherrinford's siblings stepped up next to him, the entire Holmes family standing in one line as the people applauded. Molly found herself right next to the twins as the music started up again.

"Hi."

Molly jumped, startled, and turned toward the source of the voice, noticing Tom turned toward her, smiling kindly. Sherlock was still facing the people, refusing to meet Molly's eyes. "Hi—hi me?" she stammered. Tom nodded patiently, and Molly knew she must be bright red. "Um…hi."

He must have noticed her nervous attitude. "You look beautiful," he complimented her.

Molly grinned brightly. "Thank you!" she gasped. She couldn't suppress a twinge of disappointment—this calm, collected young man was so drastically different from the playful, mischievous boy she had known and played with all those years ago. It was strange, even though she had expected it.

"So," Tom continued, "this is what a party looks like."

Molly nodded. "It's warmer than I thought," she rambled, then mentally slapped herself for sounding so stupid.

Tom either didn't notice, or was kind enough not to mention it. "And what is that amazing smell?"

Both of them sniffed the air, breathing in the sweet scent eagerly, but in the end it was Sherlock who answered. "Chocolate." His voice was so deadpan, Molly burst out laughing, with Tom joining her more quietly after a moment. Sherlock rolled his eyes at their immaturity, but Molly could see him trying to hide a tiny smile.

Molly was initially surprised when the twins suddenly quieted again, becoming blank once more. She panicked for a moment; did she say something wrong? Then she noticed a strange man approaching them, someone she had never seen before. When she saw the announcer from earlier next to him, however, Molly straightened up, feeling slightly more confident.

"Your Majesties," he began, "the Duke of Morons." He gestured to the man and bowed respectfully.

_"Moran,"_ the duke snapped. "Duke of _Moran,_ your Majesties. You may call me Sebastian." He strolled forward on long legs and paused in front of Sherrinford. "As your closest partner in trade, it seems only fitting that I offer your daughter her first dance as a true woman."

Sherrinford shot Molly a sly glance out of the corner of his eye. "Why, that sounds like a wonderful idea!" he agreed enthusiastically. Six pairs of eyes fixed themselves on Molly, as if waiting for her opinion. Molly found herself shying away.

"Th—thank you," she stumbled, "only I don't dance."

"Of course you do!" Mycroft interjected.

"I'm no good at it," Molly objected.

"Yes, you are!" Enola protested. Then she turned to Sebastian. "She dances with me all the time."

Sebastian laughed and hooked his arm into Molly's. "Lucky you," he told her mischievously as he began to pull her away toward the dancing. "If you swoon, let me know; I'll catch you!"

Molly glared back at her family, watching as each one of them—even the twins—waved mockingly at her. She caught a flash of movement in her eye and turned her head to see Greg staring at her. He mouthed a quick _sorry_ to her before they were both whisked away in opposite directions and lost sight of each other.

When Molly and Sebastian finally came to a halt, she didn't move much while Sebastian spun energetically around her. "It's so great to have the gates open again," he commented nonchalantly. "Why did they shut them in the first place? Do _you_ know the reason?" His voice went very dark, and his face was suddenly very close to Molly's, making her lean back slightly. "Hmm?"

"Uh… no?" It sounded more like a question than a response. She raised her hand defensively, ready to push him away if need be.

At first, Sebastian didn't seem to believe her. After a moment, however, he took her hand and was back to his previous, cheerful self. "All right. Hang on!" He dipped her deeply, enough for Molly to see her family snickering at her expense. She made a face at them as the duke pulled her back up. "They don't call me the _Little Dipper_ for nothing!" The dance was painful, with Molly's back cracking several times from the bending. She was almost sure her feet were broken by the time the song was done, judging by how many times his heeled boots crashed down onto them.

As the song ended, Molly trotted out of the crowd and toward her family. Sherrinford, Mycroft, and Enola were nowhere to be found; Molly guessed they had gone to meet with the other royals. Only the twins remained in the same place as before, watching her as she stumbled toward them.

"Well, he was _spritely."_ Sherlock's snide comment stabbed into Molly's pain clouded mind as she stepped up next to them.

"Especially for a man in heels!" she agreed, ungracefully hopping on one sore foot in order to rub the other one.

"Are you all right?" Tom's voice was more concerned than his brother's. Molly was grateful.

Molly chuckled. "I've never been better! This is so great!" she exclaimed. She replaced her foot on the ground and turned to look at the elder twin. She had a sincere smile on her face. "I wish it could be like this all the time."

"Me, too." Tom's voice was wistful, and he appeared to be lost in a trance.

There was a comfortable silence for a moment before Sherlock's deep voice broke it. "But it can't," he warned Tom. The latter's eyes were suddenly downcast, and his face fell.

Molly turned to Sherlock. "Why not?" she asked, truly curious. She reached out to grab his arm gently. "We're so happy right now, and—"

"It just _can't."_ He wrenched his arm free and hugged himself, trying to get away. His voice was so distraught, Molly didn't have the heart to push him anymore.

With a defeated sigh, Molly turned away. "Excuse me for a moment," she murmured, unable to hide her disappointment once again. She stepped away and started to walk toward the noisy crowd, which was no longer dancing but conversing amongst themselves. She hoped she would be able to find Greg easily, or perhaps her father or Enola, maybe even Mycroft, someone to talk to. She didn't turn back to look at the twins, but they simply watched her go, making no move to stop her.

Molly shouldered her way through the crowd, ignoring the people who spoke to her or noticed her walk by. As she got deeper and deeper into the hustle, fewer and fewer people noticed her presence. One particular moment, a large man bumped into her, sending her flying across the room. Her foot caught on her dress and she continued to fall, arms flailing in all directions, until a strong, gloved hand caught one of her own. When Molly steadied, she glanced up at her rescuer, only to be met by a familiar face.

"Glad I caught you," his smooth, soft voice teased.

"Jim!" she exclaimed. Jim pulled her up and into his arms, the two of them immediately starting to dance as if nothing had happened. "Thanks for saving me," she told him, smiling.

"Of course," he responded. Over his shoulder, Molly saw Greg watching her again, only this time there was no playfulness in his eyes. He was watching her with an interest she could not immediately label as friendly. She didn't have time to worry about it, because Jim was spinning her around and Greg had disappeared.

She didn't see him again for several hours.

* * *

Molly and Jim spent the majority of the party together from that point onward. They strolled all throughout the castle, exploring the gardens, the halls, the rooms, and the balconies. They talked about their lives at their respective homes, Molly telling him about her antisocial uncles and Jim telling her about his numerous older siblings—_nine,_ to be exact. She wondered how he could manage so many siblings, since Molly hardly had any control over the one sibling-like family member she had.

As they sat on the edge of one of the balconies, Molly had given Jim a piece of candy she had snatched from one of the dessert tables. He was currently trying to fit the entire thing into his mouth. "That's it," she encouraged him, "the _whole_ thing." He nearly choked on the candy, so Molly gave up. Changing the subject, she asked, "Wait, so _how_ many siblings do you have?"

_"Nine_ older siblings," he told her once again, his eyes growing wide. "Four of them pretended I was invisible. _For three years."_

Molly gasped. "That's horrible!"

Jim simply rolled his eyes, shrugging it off. "It's what siblings do," he told her.

"And uncles," Molly added. "The twins and I, for example, were really close when we were little. But then, one day, they just shut me out, and… I never knew why." Her voice dropped, memories of her lonely childhood swimming through her mind.

Jim took her hand gently it his own. "I would never shut you out," he reassured her.

Molly looked up at him, a smile beginning to tug at her lips. "Okay, can I say something crazy?" she blurted out.

"I love crazy."

She hopped off the balcony railing. "All my life has been a series of doors in my face." For emphasis, she slammed the doors into the castle shut, making the noise echo through the night. "And then, suddenly, I bump into you."

"I was thinking the same thing!" Jim gasped. "'Cause, like, I've been searching my whole life to find my own place." He gestured down to the village, which was lit dimly in the darkness and very hard to see. "And maybe it's the party talking, or the chocolate fondue."

His fingers brushed against Molly's cheek, making her giggle. "But with you…"

"But with you, I've found my place…"

"…I see your face."

_And it's nothing like I've ever known before!_ "Love is an open door!"

* * *

A shooting star rocketed across the sky, a bright white trail blazing in its wake. "I mean, it's crazy…" Jim began again.

"What?"

"We finish each other's—"

"Sandwiches!" Molly hopped back into the castle, leaving Jim to follow her.

"That's what I was gonna say!" He followed her, running through the empty halls out to the front of the castle, where the full moon was beginning to rise. The water was still, reflecting the sky like a clean mirror.

"I've never met someone…"

_"Who thinks so much like me!"_ they finished at the same time. Molly spun around to face him. _"Jinx!"_ They both gasped. _"Jinx again!"_

_Our mental synchronization,_ Molly thought, _can have but one explanation._

"You—" "And I—" "—were just meant to be!" Their song echoed through the still air. Molly was momentarily glad that no one could hear them, in case they told them to stop. Neither of them were willing to give up anytime soon. "Say goodbye," she sang, her voice ringing, "to the pain of the past."

"We don't have to feel it anymore!" Jim added, his voice complimenting her own.

_Love is an open door. Life could be so much more with you… love is an open door._

"Can I say something crazy?" Jim asked her excitedly, repeating her earlier line. Molly nodded just as enthusiastically. Jim took her hand and got down on one knee. "Will you marry me?"

Molly gasped. "Can I say something even crazier? _Yes!"_

* * *

There was still a decent number of people at the party when Molly and Jim returned. Molly led the way, looking for her father or one of his brothers. She saw Sherrinford and Mycroft speaking to a couple of high-class guests and called out to them. "Dad! Mycroft!" As they bowed to their guests and turned, she noticed a strict glare from Mycroft, and quickly composed herself. "I mean, your Majesties," she corrected herself. "Me again. I'd like you to meet Prince James, from the House of Moriarty."

"Your Majesties," Jim greeted them courteously, nodding his head. Sherrinford nodded back respectfully. Mycroft stood still, no reaction from him.

"We would like…" Molly and Jim began at the same time. Jim chuckled and Molly giggled.

"…your blessing…" Jim continued.

"…of… our marriage!" they finished together.

The brothers looked taken aback. "Marriage?" Mycroft asked.

"Yes!"

"I'm sorry, I'm confused."

Molly shrugged. "Well, we haven't worked out all the details ourselves," she clarified. "We'll need a few days to plan the ceremony, and—wait! Will we live here?"

_"Here?"_ Sherrinford interjected. His voice was ignored.

"Absolutely!" Jim agreed immediately.

"Molly, wait—"

Molly ignored her uncle's protests. "Oh, we can invite all nine of your older siblings to stay here!" Her voice was filled with more excitement than she ever remembered feeling in the past eleven years. "Of course, we have the room…"

"Molly." Sherrinford's stern voice cut her off. "Wait. Slow down." When he was sure he had his daughter's attention, he continued. "No one's family is moving here. _No one_ is getting married."

"Wait, what?" Molly's voice was disbelieving.

"Can we talk to you?" he asked her, gesturing to himself and Mycroft. "Alone?"

Molly shook her head. "No—no. Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of both of us."

"Fine." Sherrinford straightened up, staring down at his daughter. "You can't marry a man you've just met."

"You can if it's true love," she protested, clinging tightly to Jim's arm.

Mycroft decided to interject at that point. "Molly, what do you know about true love?"

"More than you!" she snapped, annoyed. "All you two know is how to shut people away from each other!"

Sherrinford put his hand on his brother's shoulder and moved him backwards, taking charge. "You asked for my blessing," he told her evenly, "but my answer is _no._ Now, if you'll excuse me…" He and Mycroft began to walk away. Molly glanced in the direction they were headed, and spotted the twins, who were finally mingling in the crowd.

"Your Majesty," Jim began, "if I may ease your conscience…"

"No, you may not," Sherrinford interrupted, not turning back.

Mycroft, however, did turn back. "I think you should go." Unlike Sherrinford, who was able to keep his voice steady, Mycroft's voice was cold and sharp, making Molly shiver.

"Is the party over?" Tom asked, moving within earshot.

Sherrinford nodded. "Close the gates," he told one of the nearby guards. The uniformed man uttered a quick _yes, sir_ and made a dash toward the door, heading to the front of the castle. Molly felt tears coming to her eyes; just a moment ago, this night had been so perfect, now everything was falling apart. She noticed Sherlock and Tom shuffling out toward the door, making their way to their bedroom.

That was it. Molly refused to go back to a life of isolation, separated from the world. Desperation took over, and she reached out to the nearest hand, hoping to get Tom's attention. Her fingers clasped on to a gloved hand, but it wasn't Tom's hand she grabbed; it was Sherlock's.

In her tight grip, the glove came off.

Suddenly, the two older brothers snapped backwards a few paces, arms spread out wide to keep others from getting too close. Only Tom and Molly remained close by, with Jim staying nearby in case Molly needed his support. Molly noticed the crowd of people part and Greg pushed his way into the open, his eyes meeting hers. Noticing the standoff, he knew well enough to stand back.

"Give me my glove." Sherlock's voice was cold and steady, but Molly could hear the desperation beneath the surface. With his gloved hand, he reached for the object in question. Molly realized that he wouldn't leave without the item, so she clutched it close to her chest, out of his reach.

"Sherlock, _please,_ talk some sense into him," she pleaded. A tear ran down her cheek. "I can't live like this anymore!"

Her pleading did nothing. Instead, Sherlock's response was close to the last thing she wanted to hear. "Then _leave."_

Molly gasped, more tears freeing themselves. Sherlock turned away and started toward the door again. Tom followed his brother closely, as if he was protection. Nearly sobbing, Molly shouted at them, "What did I ever do to you?"

"Enough, Molly," Tom responded, frustration in his tone.

"No, _why?_ Why do you shut me out? Why do you shut the world out?" Her voice was rising, pain taking over. "What are you so afraid of?"

"He said _enough,"_ Sherlock snarled at her, swinging his exposed hand around as he turned to face her. Blue sparks flew from his fingertips and hit the floor in one massive arc. Each spot on the wood where a spark hit, a large icicle grew, pointing outward toward the people. Several guests jumped backward, fleeing from the apparent attack and shrieking in fear. Molly watched as Sherlock's face shifted rapidly from irritation and frustration to sheer terror as his secret was revealed and the situation really sunk into each guest.

"Sorcery," Sebastian's accusing whisper echoed through the room. "I knew there was something dubious going on here."

Molly's eyes were wide, betrayal sparking in their depths. "Sherlock…" she murmured, trying to grasp what had just happened.

Tom was standing next to Sherlock, fiddling with the doorknob. As he got a grip on it, he turned it and flung the door open, shoving his brother out of the ballroom and into the hallway. "Run!" he called after the fleeing teen before rushing out after him. No one else moved for a few moments, shock taking over before common sense set in. First it was Sebastian, dashing out with two of his bodyguards. Then it was Molly, Greg, and Jim, followed by Sherrinford, Mycroft, Enola, and some of the castle guards.

As Sherlock burst through the castle doors, he was horrified to see the courtyard was filled with even more party guests, all of whom turned to the doors as they were flung open. For a moment, Sherlock simply stood there watching them and breathing heavily from running, until Tom slammed into him from behind. "Keep going!" the elder twin snapped quietly, pushing his brother out the door. Sherlock did as he asked and rushed forward, pushing his way through the gathering people while staying careful not to touch any of them with his bare hand. At every turn, however, more and more people pushed in front of them, trying to get close to the princes.

"Your Majesties," one lady asked, "are you all right?"

Sherlock began to back away, trying to regain his personal space, but as he moved, one of his feet caught on a loose stone in the ground. He fell backwards slightly, catching one of the two fountains. As his bare hand touched the cool stone, more frost spread across the surface, freezing the water spraying in the air solid and forming an ominous ice sculpture. It resembled a claw, like a predator bearing down on its prey.

A harsh cry sounded from the open doors. "There they are!" Sebastian shouted, pointing at the two teens. "Stop them!"

"Please, just stay away from us," Tom begged while Sherlock held up his hands defensively. "Stay away!" More of the blue sparks gathered at the pale hand, flying toward the duke and his bodyguards, knocking them over.

Sebastian's feet scrabbled on the ice as he tried to push himself up into a sitting position. "Monsters," he whispered, before repeating the word much more loudly: "Monsters!"

"That way," Tom whispered into his brother's ear, pointing toward one of the side doors in the castle wall, put there for emergencies. Tom led the way, one hand clinging to Sherlock's wrist and tugging him along.

"Tom! Sherlock!" Molly's distressed cry caused the twins to pause at the bottom of the steps outside the door, at the edge of the bay. They both turned as she cried out again, even though they were unable to see her. Tom backed slightly into the water, expecting to feel his boot get soaked through, but was surprised when no water touched his skin. He glanced down at the water, watching as the tiny bit around his foot froze to solid ice.

"Sherlock, look," he murmured, nudging Sherlock on the shoulder. The younger twin glanced down, then placed his own foot carefully on the water. When it, too, froze, both twins gazed across the bay toward the shore on the other side. In a split-second decision, they took off over the water, each step freezing a path to safety as Molly cried out after them.

"Wait!" Molly tried once more as she reached the ice, before slipping and falling down. Jim was instantly down helping her stand up, and Greg was behind them, keeping his distance. "No…" She watched in despair as Sherlock and Tom disappeared into the darkness.

"The bay…" Jim's dazed, disbelieving statement caused Molly to glance up in horror as the frost began to spread, surrounding every boat and dock and coating all the water in a thick layer of ice. Tiny snowflakes fell from the sky as the three of them simply stayed where they were, unable to do anything about the chaos being inflicted on the village. Molly slumped down in defeat and cried, leaning into Jim and feeling Greg's reassuring, comforting hand on her back.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Shorter chapter today, sorry. Balances out the previous one being a little longer. I didn't want to put anything else in it, though, cause I like where I ended it.**

**I really liked this chapter, it's one of my favorites. I hope you all enjoy it, too. And thanks for the reviews! :)**

Snowflakes fell gently from the rapidly cooling summer sky as Molly shouldered her way through the crowd, listening to their skeptical murmurs and disbelieving gasps. She paid no attention to them.

Greg called out to her from behind. "Are you all right?" he asked, concerned.

"No!" Molly responded, agitated. She pulled her bare arms closer to her body, shivering.

"Did you know?" Jim's voice rang in her ears.

She looked over her shoulder at him as he caught up to her. Her eyes were full of confusion and betrayal. "No," she murmured.

Up ahead, she heard Sebastian's furious, panicked voice pierce the air. "The prince has cursed this land!" he exclaimed, turning toward Sherrinford and Mycroft, both of whom were staring across the courtyard in the direction the twins had escaped. "He _must_ be stopped."

Sherrinford held up one hand. "Calm down, duke," he reassured the man. "Trust me, they—"

"You!" Molly pushed aside all the people in between herself and her remaining family. When she was face to face with her father, she snapped, "Did you know about this?"

The man hesitated. "Molly, listen…"

She cut him off. "Did you?"

Sherrinford opened his mouth to answer, but Mycroft beat him to it. "Of course we knew."

His voice was so casual, Molly simply stared at him in disbelief. "You knew… all this time?" She thought back to her childhood, the memories she'd had early in her life, playing with Sherlock and Tom. The happy memories that abruptly cut off after one point, with no explanation for her. She took a step back and felt Jim's strong hand on her shoulder. "Why the hell didn't you _tell_ me?"

"It was for the best."

Molly scoffed. "'For the best'? I spent the past eleven years of my life thinking my uncles hated me! I thought I had screwed up somewhere. Now you're telling me…" She paused, taking a deep breath to steady her voice. "…you're telling me that was _all you?"_

Sebastian interrupted the argument before it was able to continue. "We have to go after them!" he snapped at Sherrinford, who turned a distraught, stressed gaze on him.

"Wait, no!" Molly protested.

The duke gasped in shock and pulled his two bodyguards closer to him. "Is the sorcery in you, too?" he sneered at her skeptically. "Are you a monster too?"

"What—no! No, I'm completely normal," she reassured him.

"That's right," Jim added, stepping up closer to her. "She is." Molly shot him a look that said _not helping,_ and he stammered, "In—in the best way."

"And my brothers aren't monsters," Sherrinford objected, focusing Sebastian's attention back on him.

"He nearly _killed_ me!" the tall man snapped.

"You slipped on ice," Mycroft's deadpan voice chipped in.

_"His_ ice."

"It wasn't his fault!" Molly interjected. "It was an accident—he was scared. He didn't mean it. He didn't mean _any_ of this." Sebastian scoffed disbelievingly. "Tonight was my fault," Molly continued. "I pushed him, so I'm the one that needs to go after them."

_"What?"_ Jim and Greg gasped at the same time, shooting each other annoyed looks. Sebastian muttered a triumphant _"Yes!"_

Before any of them could object, Molly called out to one of the guards. "Bring me my horse!"

"Molly, no," Sherrinford objected, grabbing her arm. "It's too dangerous."

Molly sniffed. "They're not dangerous," she responded, prying her father's fingers from her arm. "I'll bring them back and I'll make this right."

"I'm coming with you," Jim stepped forward.

"No," she replied gently, "I need you here to help my father and uncle take care of London." A guard led her horse into the courtyard and placed a red, hooded cloak over her shoulders. Molly wrapped it around herself gratefully.

"On my honor…"

"Can I come?" a higher-pitched voice squeaked. Molly turned to see Enola pushing her way through the people, bouncing to Molly's feet.

Molly patted her on the head. "No, Enola. You need to stay here, too. You've got to keep your brothers in line while I'm away." She shot Sherrinford and Mycroft glares, not caring whether or not they saw her. "Make sure they don't get into any more trouble." The little girl looked downcast as Molly nudged her over to the king and remaining prince. "I promise we'll go out when I get back!"

_"I'll_ go," a new voice added; it was Greg, stepping forward and already hoisting himself up onto the horse. As Molly opened her mouth to deny him, he cut her off. "You can't say no, because you know I'll just come anyway."

Molly smiled at him sincerely. "Thank you." He leaned down and stretched out one hand, which she took to pull herself up onto her horse.

Jim still looked doubtful. "Are you sure you can trust her?" he asked, his voice riddled with concern. "I don't want you getting hurt."

"They're family," she responded confidently. "They would never hurt me." With a farewell nod, Greg snapped the reigns and sent the horse running from the courtyard and into the rapidly cooling dark of night.

* * *

The wind whistled harshly along the stone of the mountain, snow drifting along the surface and creating delicate patterns on the ice. Two small, dark spots moved slowly up the face of the mountain, standing out against the white ground. They shuffled along quietly, sticking close together to not lose each other. Their feet moved in sync with each other.

One of them shifted farther ahead than the other. He was taller than his companion, his longer legs coming in handy while they trekked through the powdery snow. He turned to his companion and waited until they were together again before moving forward. The shorter companion started drifting ahead within a few moments, leaving his brother to catch up. This one, however, did not turn and wait.

The taller one stopped. "The snow glows white on the mountain tonight," he murmured to himself, hoping his brother didn't hear him. "Not a footprint to be seen. A kingdom of isolation, and it looks like we're the kings…"

His brother stopped now and looked back. "What are you talking about, Tom?" he asked, hugging himself tightly.

Tom ignored his question. "The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside," he continued, copying his brother and hugging himself. "Couldn't keep it in; heaven knows we've tried…"

Sherlock's eyes sparked defiantly, and he started moving toward Tom. "Don't let them in, don't let them see," he chanted, his voice laced with disdain, "be the good boys you always have to be. Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know…" He pulled off the glove on his hand, then wrapped his hands around Tom's, slowly pulling the gloves off. In one smooth movement, he released the three pieces of cloth to the wind, watching as they drifted away with a flurry of snowflakes. _"Well, now they know."_ He grinned mischievously, turning and sprinting up the slope with a newfound energy.

"Let it go," he continued, using his left hand to generate some of the icy magic he had missed all those years. He released another puff from his right hand. "Let it go! Can't hold it back anymore. Let it go, let it go—turn away and slam the door!" With a sweep of his arms, snow went flying to his right, then again to his left. "I don't care what they're going to say!"

"Let the storm rage on," Tom added his voice to his brother's, feeling a new surge of power. He dashed up to join Sherlock ahead. "The cold never bothered me anyway." He flicked his wrist, summoning a pillar of ice to rise from the snow. It grew to well over their heads, rising high into the sky. He moved to the right a ways, repeating the process again. The two pillars were joined by a wall of thick ice, creating a barrier. Tom turned his eyes back in the direction the two of them had come from. "It's funny how some distance makes everything seem small, and the fears that once controlled me can't get to me at all!" Another pillar went up, and Tom was gone, drifting into his own little world. The wall began to grow and turn, forming a circle around the mountaintop.

Sherlock turned and left him to his fun. He sprinted forward until there was a drop in the ground, not allowing him to move forward. "It's time to see what I can do…" He pulled his hands close to his chest, gathering up his focus. "…to test the limits and break through." His hands shot forward, blue sparks flying at the ground just before the drop. Ice gathered in a specific pattern, forming a sculpture that resembled a staircase. Sherlock placed one foot on the bottom step, testing its stability. "No right, no wrong, no rules for me…" The step did not give way. "…we're _free!"_

Each time one of his feet touched the ice, another step was added to the staircase, and Sherlock ran with his arms outstretched, forming a railing to go along with it. "Let it go, let it go—I am one with the wind and sky." As he reached the top, a flurry of snowflakes flew into the air at the end of the railing. "Let it go, let it go—you'll never see us cry…" Moving into the center of the ledge, Sherlock slammed one of his feet onto the ground, ice spreading from that one point into the intricate shape of a snowflake. "Here I stand, and here I'll stay. Let the storm rage on…" The ice began to rise, forming a platform as more pillars of ice emerged from the ground. As they rose, the architecture became more complicated. Walls rose to surround him on the platform, with several doors leading out of the room.

"My power flurries through the air into the ground." The ceiling began to form, the ice molding together to create a stable roof. At the point in the center, a massive chandelier was hung, decorating the room and adding new life to it. "My soul is spiraling in frozen fractals all around. And one thought crystalizes like an icy blast…" Through a window, Sherlock could see Tom running toward the newly built castle, a wall standing strong and firm where he had finished it. The sun was beginning to rise, sending a golden dawn light shining through the translucent walls of the palace. "We're never going back—the past is in the past!"

When Tom appeared in one of the doors, his dark clothes began to change. The dark pieces were peeling off, floating in the air like the ash of a fire. Beneath the darkness was a brilliant blue: light blue trousers, shining blue shirt, solid ice boots, and a thick, sky blue fur cape. Sherlock's own clothing also faded away, leaving a paler blue suit in its wake. It was almost exactly like Tom's, except Sherlock's cape was not fur, but a lacey material made from ice, and it included a hood.

"Let it go—let it go! And we'll rise like the break of dawn." The ash-like material swirled in the air like a blizzard before melting away into nothing. "Let it go—let it go! Those perfect boys are gone."

"Here we stand," Tom continued, leading the way onto the balcony facing the sunrise, "in the light of day. Let the storm rage on!"

_"The cold never bothered us anyway."_


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Sorry about the wait. Got caught up in other things. This chapter's longer than usual, hopefully making up for the shorter chapter last time and the wait :P But anyways, I hope you enjoy it!**

"Tom!" Molly called, her voice echoing off the snow-covered trees and ringing through the still dawn air. The now up here was much deeper than the snow down in London; the trees were bent over in half, trying to hold up the extra weight. Her horse was struggling to lift each leg to walk, even though it was only Molly's weight it needed to carry. Greg had jumped off a ways back and was leading the horse through the snow, holding it by the reins.

It wasn't any easier for Greg to walk, though. The snow was well above his knees, and it clung to his boots and pants, making his legs heavy and wet. Molly occasionally wanted to jump down and let him ride on the horse for a while, and she did twice. Yet each time, he simply picked her back up and planted her back on the horse before continuing on. Molly eventually gave up, since she was only slowing them down by trying to help. Now she had taken to calling out to her uncles, in case they were anywhere in the area.

"It's me, Molly!" she tried again. "Your niece who didn't mean to make you freeze the summer!" Then she turned to Greg and huffed. "Of course, none of this would have happened in the first place if they had told me their secret… they're stinkers, aren't they?"

Greg shrugged. "You know, most people who disappear into the mountains want to be left alone," he reminded her.

Molly shook her head. "No one wants to be alone." Greg ignored her, focusing back on their path. Molly could tell that he was still mad at her about Jim.

When Greg had asked about the man she had stayed around last night, Molly had told him the whole thing, from meeting him to getting engaged later on in the evening. She had hoped that he would understand her choices, understand what it was like to finally have someone pay attention to you after years of near isolation; she couldn't have been more wrong. Immediately, Greg had snapped at her about the immaturity of her actions, saying that she had only just met him that day, and didn't know anything about him. According to him, Jim could turn out to be some kind of terrorist, criminal, or assassin of some kind. Molly didn't bother to defend herself; obviously, Greg was like her father, and didn't understand.

Suddenly, a large white mass fell from somewhere above the small group and landed right on Molly. Her horse reared back on its hind legs and she was flying off its back. She landed in a snow drift, covered in the white, fluffy powder, and Greg was thrown forward by the force of the movement. Shaking her head clear of snow, Molly saw her horse begin to gallop away, back down the side of the hill. "No, no, no!" Greg called after it, scrambling up and chasing after it for a moment, before he admitted defeat and turned back to Molly.

_"Okay,"_ Molly murmured. One of the bent-over trees was above her, so she carefully wrapped her fingers around the smooth bark and began to pull herself up. Her fingers slipped, however, and the tree snapped into an upright position, scattering snow all over her and burying her again. As she dug herself out, Molly noticed Greg trying to stifle a snicker, a smug, amused smirk plastered across his face. "Stop that laughing," she snapped. He did, but the smirk didn't fade away so quickly.

* * *

"Snow," Greg grumbled. "It _had_ to be snow."

Night had fallen, and the two teenagers hadn't found any trace of the missing princes. Molly's horse had not come back; she assumed that it was already all the way back down to London by now. She was slightly worried about what her father, Mycroft, and Enola would think when her horse arrived back home without her. They might think she had been hurt, or even killed. And what about Jim? What would he think? She pulled her cloak around her shoulders to warm herself up, forcing the thoughts away.

"They couldn't have had _tropical_ powers," Greg continued. "You know, covering the village in white sand, and warm—"

"—fire!" Molly interrupted him as they got to the top of the hill, pointing to something in the distance. A thin trail of smoke rose into the sky from somewhere in the trees, hiding its source. But where there was fire, there's people, right? Molly didn't wait for Greg to respond and took a step forward; bad idea. The snow gave way immediately, sending Molly plummeting down the steep slope. Her cloak caught on one of the bare shrubs on the way down, leaving her bare arms exposed to the snow. At the bottom of the hill was a shallow creek, bringing her to a jerking halt. The freezing water made her shiver uncontrollably, soaking through her dress and drenching her skin. Greg slid down after her, still sliding on his feet, and came to a gentle stop just on the bank of the creek. He didn't say anything as he stretched out his arm to help her up, but that smirk was back on his face again. "Shut up," Molly snapped before he had the chance to speak. She took his hand and hauled herself up, her teeth clattering.

As soon as she was out of the water, the soaked material that was her dress froze solid, making it impossible to move freely. Greg was still smirking as Molly waddled awkwardly after him, toward the source of the fire.

It turned out to be a small, snug building, a snow-covered sign hanging outside the door. Greg strolled casually up to it and gave it a whack, sending the snow to the ground. "Mrs. Hudson's Trading Post," he recited as Molly caught up to him.

More of the snow fell off. Molly brightened up. "Ooh, and sauna!" she added excitedly. She snatched Greg's wrist and dragged him inside.

The sudden blast of heat was nearly suffocating as Greg pried the door open. Molly shuffled inside, still shivering, as the heavy wood slammed shut and Greg stumbled to the center of the small room. Several shelves were spread around the room, stocked high with various products. Hooks adorned the walls, displaying a similar array of various goods. Molly did a quick scan, before a gentle voice alerted her. "Hello, dear!"

Greg turned toward the source of the noise. It was a small, middle-aged lady sitting behind a desk, littered with several different items. "Big Summer Blow-Out!" she chirped cheerfully. "Half off swimming suits, clogs, and a sun balm of my own invention." She reached underneath the surface of the desk and withdrew a small flask, filled with an unidentifiable liquid. There was a large, kind smile on her face as she stared at them expectantly.

Molly broke the silence awkwardly. "Oh, good. For now, how about boots? Winter boots… and dresses?"

"And gloves," Greg added, holding out his shivering, bare hands; Molly hadn't even noticed.

"That would be in our winter department," the woman told them, gesturing toward the wall opposite the entrance door. Molly turned and recoiled slightly; there wasn't much of a selection. Of course there wouldn't be… it _was_ the middle of summer at the moment.

"Good," Greg nodded, placing a hand on Molly's back and pushing her forward gently. "We were just wondering," he continued, "if anyone else—a pair of young men, perhaps—had passed through here?" His voice was casual as he picked up the first pair of mittens his fingers touched, not giving away anything. Molly, in turn, chose a neatly folded dress and a pair of black boots. The two of them walked back to the desk, placing their pickings on the smooth surface.

The woman shrugged, then shook her head. "Only a couple people crazy enough to be out in this storm, as you two, dears," she responded.

The heavy wooden door was suddenly slammed open, sending a harsh blast of cold air and snowflakes whirling into the room. Molly snapped around, only to be nearly face-to-face with a heavyset white figure standing in the doorway. Snow clung to his clothes—it was obvious that this was a man—and a scarf was wrapped around his face, obscuring any distinguishable features from view. The only thing Molly could see was a few strands of sandy blonde hair hanging from under his hat. With one brisk movement, he slammed the door closed again, then proceeded to stamp his feet on the floor and brush his hands over his coat in an effort to brush the snow off. The entire thing was in vain, as none of the fresh white powder would fall. After a moment, he simply gave up and moved forward to the desk.

As the man got closer, Molly leaned back awkwardly, avoiding eye contact with him. She could sense Greg getting tense behind her, ready to whisk her away at a moment's notice. Even though this man was only about as tall as Greg, maybe even a little shorter, Molly felt intimidated by him as he leaned down into her face, just barely inches from her nose. An unintelligible noise came from within the scarf.

Molly looked him in the eyes—they were blue. "Hmm?" she asked.

The man leaned even closer, if that was even possible. "Behind you," he clarified.

"Oh—oh!" Molly quickly skittered out of his way and jerked to her right, so the man was between herself and Greg. "Sorry," she apologized. The man bent down and snatched a bag from near the floor and flung it onto the desk, then turned and headed over to the winter stock.

The small woman spoke up again, breaking the silence. "A real howler in July, yes?" she asked enthusiastically. "Wherever could it be coming from?"

The man picked up a coil of rope, then a small hatchet. "The North Mountain," he responded, deciding that those two items were sufficient.

Something sparked in Molly's mind. "The North Mountain…" she repeated, trailing off in though. Greg shot her a curious look.

The man set the two items next to the bag. "That'll be forty," the woman told him.

"Forty? No, _ten,"_ the man protested.

"Oh dear, that's no good! You see, this is from our winter stock," the woman clarified, as though she were talking to a child, "and the supply and demand are a big problem."

The man huffed, irritated. "You want to talk about _supply and demand?_ I sell ice for a living!" He angled his head toward the window, where a sled stocked high with huge blocks of ice sat.

Molly giggled. "Oh, that's a rough business to be in right now!" She tried to sound sympathetic, but had a feeling that she was failing. The looks that both the man and Greg gave her didn't feel any better. "I mean, with all the—that's unfortunate," she cut herself off, feeling her face grow hot with embarrassment.

"Still forty," the woman decided. "But I will throw in a free visit to Hudson's Sauna!" She gestured to a door at the end of the desk, leading to a room filled with steam. Molly almost wanted to take her up on that offer.

"But ten's all I've got," the man sighed. "Help me out."

"Okay," the woman responded kindly. She took the bag and set it aside from the other items. "Ten will get you this, and no more."

"So, what was going on up on the North Mountain?" Molly interrupted, earning an exasperated sigh from Greg and a dull look from the strange man. "Did it seem… magical?"

The man turned to her and pulled the scarf away from his mouth, revealing the rest of his face. _"Yes,"_ he snapped impatiently. Molly guessed it was just to get her to shut up. "Now back up, while I deal with this _crook_ here." He pointed at the woman accusingly.

_That_ was a bad idea. The woman stood up, and while she was shorter than all three of them, Molly was extremely glad that she wasn't the strange man at that moment. The woman's happy attitude was gone completely, her bright eyes now cold and offended. "What did you call me?" she whispered, her voice nearly trembling with fury. She cleared the desk in five quick strides, then reached up and grabbed the young man by the ear. Leading him—or dragging him, it looked like—to the door, she pulled it open with ease and flung him outside, ending with him landing face-down in the snow. Before he had a chance to sit up, the door had already slammed shut.

The woman trotted back calmly, already back to her former self. Molly was stunned, and she could tell by Greg's face that he was, too. "Sorry about the interruption," the woman told them sweetly. "Just the outfit, boots, and gloves, then?"

Molly hesitated. "Uh…" she glanced at the door nervously, her mind racing. When she seemed to decide, she turned wide eyes on Greg, gazing up at him with that same look that always got her exactly what she wanted when they were children. This time, too, he knew what it was she was asking.

He simply shrugged. "Not my money," he told her nonchalantly.

* * *

A small stable sat outside the shop. When Molly had changed into her new dress, she noticed Greg standing next to the stable, waiting for her patiently. A soft light glowed inside, indicating that the man was inside and still awake. She stepped forward and peered inside cautiously. The man was sprawled across a pile of hay, his hat resting over his eyes to block out the light. To his left laid a massive horse, its coat a beautiful dark reddish brown. It was a Clydesdale, she could tell from the feathery fur around its hooves. Both appeared to be asleep, but Molly knew that they couldn't yet be too deeply unconscious, so she tossed a bag toward the man. It landed inches from his side, waking him instantly and alerting his horse. He let out a shout of panic and bolted upright, before his eyes rested on her.

"Oh," he muttered, "it's just you."

Molly stepped forward, trying to appear more confident. "I want you to take us up the North Mountain," she ordered, forcing her voice to remain steady.

The man simply laid back down, covering his face again. "I don't take people places," he objected.

Huffing in annoyance, Molly tossed another bag at him. This one landed squarely on his stomach, making him grunt in pain. "Take us up the North Mountain," she repeated, her inner authority emerging. Mycroft would be proud. "Please." The man opened the bag curiously, pulling out the hatchet he had inspected earlier. He pulled the other bag up as well, and that one contained the coil of rope. He glanced back up at Molly, confused. She looked him in the eye, refusing to back down.

The man sighed in defeat and plopped back down. "We leave at dawn," he grumbled crossly. "And you forgot the apples for Redbeard."

A third and final bag went flying through the air, and this one smacked him right in the face, making him recoil. The horse—Redbeard?—leaned in to sniff the contents as apples rolled out. Molly's flurry of apologies came immediately, before she composed herself again. "We leave _now,"_ she demanded, crossing her arms defiantly. "Right now." Refusing to hear another word on the subject, she turned and strolled out of the shed. The moment she was outside, her entire body went slack against the wall and she huffed in relief. After a moment, she noticed Greg staring at her. "What?"

"Smooth," he snickered, his voice as snarky as ever. Molly glared at him.

"Shut up."

* * *

The man's sled was faster than Molly had expected it to be as the three of them raced along the path, a small lantern lighting the way. The man's name turned out to be John. He didn't have a last name, or at least none that he knew of. Molly found this strange, but didn't question it. She and John sat in the front of the sled, while Greg had grudgingly agreed to sit in the back with the supplies. The whole trip thus far had been in silence.

Until John broke it, that is. "So, what made the princes go all ice-crazy?" he asked, attempting conversation to pass the time.

"Well…" Molly began, sighing. "It was all my fault. You see, I had gotten engaged, but my dad had a bit of a panic attack, since I had, you know, only just met him, and—"

"Wait," John interrupted her. "You got engaged to someone you'd just met that day?" His voice was disbelieving.

Molly nodded. "Yes. Well, anyway, he'd said that the party was over. His brothers, the princes, were leaving, and I grabbed one of their gloves, and then—"

_"Hang on,"_ John interjected again. "You mean to tell me that you got _engaged_ to someone you had _just met that day?"_

"Says a lot, doesn't it?" Greg's sarcastic voice sounded from the back of the sled. Molly was just about ready to climb back there and smack him.

"Yes. Shut up and pay attention." She rolled her eyes and continued. "But you see, they wore the gloves all the time. So I thought, 'maybe he just has a thing about dirt!'"

John stared at her. "Didn't your parents ever tell you anything about strangers?"

Molly met his eyes awkwardly. "Yes they did," she responded, shifting slightly to her left away from him. "But Jim is not a stranger!"

Greg snorted. "Oh yeah? What's his last name?"

Molly scoffed. "House of Moriarty," she shot back, as if the answer was obvious.

"What's his favorite food?" John asked incredulously.

"Sandwiches."

"Best friend's name?" That was Greg again.

"Probably Peter."

"Eye color?" John.

"Dreamy."

"Foot size?" Greg.

Molly leaned over to look at him, seeing him glance up at her with mock innocence in his eyes. "Foot size doesn't matter," she retorted dryly.

John pulled her back. "What if you hate the way he eats?" he asked. "What if you hate the way he… picks his nose?"

"Picks his _nose?"_ Molly couldn't believe what she was hearing.

_"And eats it."_

Molly sniffed angrily. "Excuse me, sir, he is a _prince."_

John simply shrugged. "All men do it."

"Ew!" Molly drawled. She recomposed herself again after a moment. "Well, it doesn't matter. It's true love!"

"Doesn't sound like true love," John objected.

"Oh? And I suppose you're some kind of love expert?"

John didn't respond. "Shh," he hissed, gesturing at her to be quiet. The sled pulled to a stop.

"No, no, no," Molly denied, ignoring his order. "I'd like to meet these—"

"Shut up, Molly," Greg snapped quietly from behind them. For good measure, John quickly slapped his hand over her mouth. As she pried it away, she opened her mouth again to speak, but John motioned for her silence again, and Molly decided to play along, confused. John took the lantern off the hook where it lit their path and swung it around in all directions, as if he were trying to find something. Greg's voice whispered very softly from below, "John…"

John heard the plea and turned around, shining the light behind the sled. He held his arm out and peered closer, and Molly could see little sparks in the trees, like the light was reflecting off of something. "Redbeard, go," John ordered the horse quietly, yet urgently. "Go!" The horse obeyed and took off at full speed, hauling them away from those trees. Molly heard a snarl and feet pounding in the snow, and saw bundles of dark fur hurtling toward them.

"What are they?" she asked John, suddenly terrified.

"Wolves," he responded hastily, replacing the lantern.

_"Wolves?"_

Molly could see them better now, as they were gaining on the sled. She felt a stab of fear for Greg, sitting alone on the back and unprotected from the danger. Yet as John leaned over and grabbed something from his supplies, Greg didn't seem to be panicking as much as Molly was; he seemed relatively calm, to be honest. "What do we do?" Molly asked anxiously.

"I've got this," John responded quickly. The thing he had grabbed turned out to be a torch, which he quickly lit with the fire from the lantern. As he turned back to the wolves, he added, "Just don't fall off, and don't get eaten."

"But I want to help!" Molly objected.

"No."

"Why not?" she demanded.

"Because I don't trust your judgment!"

_"Excuse_ me?"

"Who marries a _man_ she's just met?" he pointed out aggressively, putting strain on the word _man_ as he kicked a wolf that had jumped for them.

Molly swung around and grabbed the first thing her fingers touched. "It's _true love!"_ she snapped, then swung the thing she'd grabbed—an instrument of some sort—at John. He ducked in panic, before noticing that Molly had been aiming for another daring wolf that had jumped for them. The instrument hit the wolf right in the head, earning an interested _whoa_ from John.

"Hey!" a sharp cry sounded from the back of the sled, and Molly could see, to her horror, Greg being dragged behind the sled, hanging on by a stray rope. A wolf had a firm hold on his ankle, and there was a dark trail behind them. _Blood._

John acted quickly. "Graham!" he called and grasped the rope, trying to pull the man inside.

"It's _Greg,"_ Greg corrected with an annoyed tone, then let out another yelp of pain as a different wolf grabbed his ankle.

Molly leaned over and grabbed a bundle wrapped up in a roll, took John's torch, and lit it on fire. "Duck!" she commanded, raising the bundle over her head before lobbing it in Greg's direction. His head quickly went down and the bundle hit the wolf anchored to his ankle, making it release him and sending it tumbling away from them.

When Greg looked up again, he glared at Molly. "You almost set me on _fire!"_ he snapped as he started to climb the rope.

As he got closer, Molly reached down for him, taking one of his hands. John took the other one. "But I _didn't,"_ she reminded him, pulling him up to the seat with them. His leg was bleeding badly, and he winced in pain as his foot brushed the back of the seat. As he got settled in, making sure he didn't fall off again, Molly turned and looked in the direction Redbeard was pulling them, and gasped in shock and fear. Just up ahead, there was a deep gap in the ground. She tapped John urgently, pointing to the imminent danger. "Get ready to jump, Redbeard!"

_"You_ don't tell him what to do," John snapped, hauling Greg onto the horse's back. As soon as the injured man wasn't going to fall, John turned to Molly and did the same thing with her, plopping her down behind Greg. He handed her a bag, which she clutched to her chest for something to hold onto. _"I_ do. Jump, Redbeard!" With that command, he cut the rope tethering the horse to the sled and Redbeard sprinted ahead. As they came to the edge of the drop, Redbeard launched himself forward, clearing the gap with just a few inches to spare. He tumbled to the ground on the other side, sending Molly and Greg rolling away from the ledge and receiving a yelp of pain from Greg.

Across the gap, the sled was launched from the ground as it reached the edge. It soared about halfway through the air before falling to the ground below in a quick descent. John threw himself from the sled and clung desperately to the white powder as the sled crashed to the ground below. Completely shattered, it burst into flame from the lantern.

John sighed. "I just paid it off," he groaned, his voice having a whiny quality to it. The snow began to give way, jerking him back to attention. "Oh, no. No, no, _no."_ He grabbed desperately to the snow as it slipped away, collapsing in his hands. _"No!"_

Something was moving toward him, something small and shiny. It landed just inches from his hands, anchoring itself in the snow: the hatchet. It was tied to a rope. "Pull, Redbeard!" Molly commanded, pulling on the rope. John grabbed onto the hatchet and allowed the horse and girl to pull him from danger. When he wasn't hanging precariously off the edge of the cliff, he let go and rolled onto his back, spreading his arms out and breathing heavily. Molly glanced first at him, then down to the place where the sled was still burning. "Whoa," she murmured, then turned back to John. "I'll replace your sled… and everything in it," she reassured him. "And… I understand if you don't want to help us anymore." She turned her attention back to Greg, who was trying to pull his boot and sock off to get a better look at the wound on his ankle.

John glanced at them. After a moment of hesitation, he took his scarf off and handed it to Molly. "You should wrap that up, stop the bleeding," he advised her. "I wish we had better, but this will have to do for now. Rub some snow on it first, to wash it off." Molly nodded gratefully and began to follow his instructions. "You should probably find another way back to the village, and get him home."

Greg was the one that shook his head. "No," he objected stubbornly. "We can't go back until we find the boys." He winced and hissed in pain as Molly rubbed snow on the bite marks, scrubbing the blood away. The holes didn't look as bad when they were clean, but they were still pretty deep, and they _hurt._ He realized the possibility of broken bones, and panicked slightly; he couldn't leave Molly alone and head home, but they couldn't both go home with the weather like this.

John moved toward them, poking gently at the skin around the wounds, feeling for something. "It doesn't feel like anything's broken," he told them. "It'll hurt, but I think you can still walk." Molly wrapped the ankle in the scarf tightly, sealing it shut. She and John stood up, and both offered a hand to Greg, who took both of them and hauled himself up. He couldn't put much weight on his injured foot, but he was able to stand with support from both of them.

Molly glanced at John. "Does this mean you'll help us?" Her voice was hopeful, but she was obviously trying to conceal it.

John snorted in amusement. "And leave you two alone? You'd get him killed before noon today." Molly giggled as Greg shot her a pointed look, and the three of them began to move forward, slowly but surely.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: I am SO sorry about the wait! I've been busy with other things recently, so I hope you can forgive me. D: But for sure, I'm not gonna abandon this story or my other one, but I'm not sure when I'm gonna update again. Hopefully soon? :)**

**Either way, I hope you enjoy this chapter :)**

It turned out that the trek up to the mountain would take much longer than any of the three had expected. For one thing, Greg hadn't even made it sixty feet from the cliffside before he collapsed, unable to walk any farther. John had helped him up onto Redbeard's back, where he rode currently, but Molly could tell that the horse was starting to get tired. The cool dawn sky brought with it a chilling wind, and Molly pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, shivering. Despite the cold, though, she still felt optimistic, as if today would be a good day.

Her optimism disappeared instantly, however, as she caught a glimpse of London, far below the frozen forest they hiked through. It was hard to see, since the buildings were covered in bright white snow, making the town almost impossible to look at in sunlight. Molly's eyes widened. "London…" Greg whispered to himself in horror, as if he was seeing truly for the first time what the twins were capable of.

John stepped up next to her. "It's completely frozen…"

Molly took a deep breath, trying to steady her trembling limbs. "But don't worry," she stammered, pausing to calm herself. "Sherlock and Tom will thaw it." She sounded as if she was trying to reassure herself of the fact.

"Will they, though?" John countered, his voice skeptical.

"Yeah," Molly responded, not looking him or Greg in the eyes. "Now come on. This way to the North Mountain?" She pointed to her right, then began to walk in that direction, not taking her eyes off the icy village down below.

John chuckled and grabbed her arm near the elbow. "More like _that_ way," he corrected her, angling her arm upward. Greg snorted in amusement in the look of shock and terror on her face as she saw the massive mountain towering high above her head, the peak visible even above the clouds. She shot him a glare, but did not snap. Instead, she ripped her hand out of John's grip and waited for him to take the lead.

* * *

"Does anyone need a cloak?"

The strong voice rang clearly through the grey air down in London, where the citizens had already begun to squabble over the few resources they had. Prince James Moriarty was moving from bystander to bystander, a stack of cloaks neatly folded in his arms. He was followed by two of the castle guards, both of whom carried identical piles of cloaks in their arms. As the three men approached an old woman, Jim leaned down to her and asked gently, "Would you like a cloak, ma'am?"

The woman took the top cloak from the pile gratefully. "London is indebted to you, your Highness," she told him.

Jim nodded and withdrew, moving to the other citizens. "The castle is open," he announced. "There is hot soup in the Great Hall. Here," he spoke to another guard, handing him the cloaks, "pass these out." The guard nodded and followed the other two men.

An angry shout sounded from behind Jim. "Prince James!" It was the Duke of Moran, Sebastian. Jim suppressed a sigh and turned to the tall man.

"What is it, sir?"

Sebastian hugged his arms close to himself and looked at Jim as if he had grown a second head. "Are we expected to just _sit here_ and _freeze_ while you give away all of London's tradable goods?" the man snapped irritably.

Jim did not let his annoyance show. "King Sherrinford has given his orders," he responded, carefully avoiding the question.

The Duke was not satisfied. "And that's another thing!" he continued loudly. "Has it ever occurred to you that your precious _king_ may be conspiring with a couple of wicked sorcerers to destroy us _all?"_

"Do _not_ question the king," Jim nearly snarled. "He put me in charge of taking care of the citizens while he speaks with his advisors. Don't think I'll hesitate to protect London from _treason."_

Sebastian's mouth opened and closed incredulously. "T-treason?" he stammered, recoiling.

Yet before Jim had a chance to respond, a noise of disturbance came from behind him, beyond the entrance to the village. As Jim turned, he recognized the sound of a horse's hooves pounding on the snow-covered stone as Princess Molly's white horse came galloping into the square. Jim's relief turned to horror as he noticed that Molly was not perched on top of the horse's back. Carefully, he stepped forward, avoiding the agitated, flying hooves as he took the reins in his hands and steadied the horse, gently stroking its muzzle. He turned and looked at the mountains, lost in a daze for a moment.

Then he snapped himself back into the present and turned to the villagers. "The princess is in trouble," he called, his gaze raking across the terrified faces. "I'll need volunteers to go after her." Calls of _I'll go!_ and _I'll do it!_ echoed through the still air as men and women stepped up and raised their hands.

"I volunteer two of my guards, my Lord," Sebastian called out. Then, more quietly, he turned to his two bodyguards—Donovan and Anderson—and whispered, "Be prepared for anything. And should you encounter the princes… you are to put an end to this winter. Do you understand?" The guards nodded silently, then stepped forward to be face-to-face with Jim.

As Jim began making plans to retrieve Molly, he heard a voice summon him. "Prince James."

He turned, expecting Sebastian to lash out at him again, but he was surprised to see Prince Mycroft, of all people, standing there. "Yes, your Highness?" he greeted the man formally. "What is it? I'm organizing a search party for Molly, if that's what you want."

"That's not what I'm here for," Mycroft dismissed the matter. "I came to ask you if you had seen my sister at all today."

"Enola?" Jim asked, confused. He hadn't even formally met the girl; he hardly knew what she looked like, and doubted he would know her if he happened to see her. "I don't think so, sir."

Mycroft sighed, troubled. "I was afraid of that," he droned quietly, turning away.

Jim was curious now. "What's wrong?"

The prince did not turn to look him in the eye. "No one has seen her since yesterday. She's disappeared."

* * *

As Molly, John, and Greg traveled through the forest, they came across a small clearing edged with willow trees. A small waterfall would have flowed over the rocks on a normal summer day, but today both it and the pool it filled were frozen solid. The branches of the willows were decorated with delicate drops of ice, making each tree look as if it were a chandelier that belonged in a ballroom. Greg hopped gently and slowly off of Redbeard's back and, despite wincing as his injured leg hit the ground, he walked next to the horse, running his hand through the branches in wonder.

Redbeard walked right next to him, allowing Greg to lean on him whenever the pain got to be too much. Yet when some of the branches trailed in front of his face, he began to bump his muzzle into them, then tossing his head back and forth, making the ice jingle like bells. Greg chuckled at the horse's playfulness.

Molly sighed. "I never knew winter could be so… beautiful," she told them, her voice wistful.

"Yeah…" a new voice put in, causing all four travelers to freeze in place. "It really _is_ beautiful, isn't it?" Molly felt as though she should recognize the voice, but she couldn't immediately place it. She and John began to walk forward, peering through the trees to locate the source of the voice. "But it's so _white!_ Why don't we add a little color? What about crimson, maybe a little chartreuse, _yellow…"_ The voice paused, making a noise of disgust. "No, not yellow. Yellow and snow? _Ugh!"_ Molly turned and looked over her shoulder, then immediately wished she hadn't.

Standing there, oblivious to the shocked looks the three people around her were giving her, was Enola. Greg shot Molly a disbelieving look, and she found herself sharing the feeling.

Enola looked up at Molly. "Am I right?" she continued. Was this girl an _idiot?_

"What the hell are you _doing_ here, Enola?" The girl in question turned to Greg, the one who had spoken.

"I came to find you guys!" she exclaimed, as if it was obvious. "It got so boring at the castle. All Sherrinford and Mycroft do is talk about the weather, and Jim doesn't like to play games with me. I wanted to find you," she directed at Molly, "because you like to play with me."

Molly put a hand to her forehead, feeling a headache forming. "Enola, I told you to stay behind at home," she scolded. "It's not safe for you out here. Honestly, I'm surprised you made it this far." Enola put her hands on her hips, offended.

"Wait a minute," John interrupted, "back up. Who is this?"

"My idiot of an aunt, Enola," Molly responded, her voice tight with anger. "One who needs to go home, _now."_ She gave Enola a push in the direction the girl must have come from, ignoring her protests.

"Wait a minute, Molly," Greg interrupted, stepping away from Redbeard's side. "She can't go back on her own. She'll freeze to death out there."

Molly scoffed. "Well, we can't exactly take her there," she countered. "We're sort of busy at the moment."

"Then we don't have much of a choice but to let her come with us."

"No," John objected immediately. "It's already hard enough to travel with a directionally-challenged princess and an injured person. We are _not_ bringing someone else with us."

Greg gave him a look. "Would you rather we leave her here to freeze to death?" he shot back firmly.

The two men held each other's gaze for a moment, before John finally looked away. "If she dies, it's not my fault," he grumbled, turning to lead the way out of the clearing. "Come on. We've got a lot of ground to cover before nightfall." Enola gave a gleeful bounce and trotted after the group.

She caught up to Molly. "Who's the funky-looking donkey over there?" she asked.

Molly rolled her eyes. "That's Redbeard," she responded.

Enola smiled. "Okay. And who's the horse?"

* * *

"I'm starting to see why we shouldn't have brought you along," Greg murmured under his breath, making sure only Enola could hear him.

Within five minutes of leaving the clearing, Enola's feet had gotten tired. She had clamored ungracefully up onto Redbeard's back, and now sat smugly on top of him, looking down on the rest of the group as though she were queen and the rest of them were her subjects. Greg was almost sure that his injured leg had started bleeding again—he had noticed little spots of red on the snow whenever he looked down—but he hadn't been able to pull himself up onto the horse while Enola was there. His foot had gone numb, so at least he wasn't feeling much pain, but he didn't want the condition to get any worse than it already was and end up slowing them all down.

Up ahead, Molly and John were talking, leading the group into a rocky valley. The rock pillars were covered in snow and ice, with icicles as long as Greg was tall and longer sticking straight out at them. John turned to Molly. "So how, exactly, are you planning to stop this weather?"

Molly sniffed. "Oh, I am going to talk to my uncles," she told him matter-of-factly. Greg snorted. _Are all princesses smug and obnoxious like Enola?_

"That's it?" John asked incredulously. "My ice business is riding on you _talking_ to your uncles?"

"Yep."

John opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off as he nearly collided head-on with an icicle. The tip of it just touched his nose, and he leaned back carefully, making sure not to put any pressure on it. "So you're not at _all_ afraid of them?"

"Why would I be?" Molly asked him, confused.

Enola spoke up from her perch. "Yeah! I bet they're the nicest, gentlest, warmest people ever!"

Molly held back a snicker and rolled her eyes at her aunt's obliviousness. If only she knew.

* * *

When the group came to a rock wall, John told them to stop. "It's too steep," he told the others. "I've only got one rope, half of us don't know how to climb mountains, and one of us can't either way." He turned and started rummaging through his bag. Redbeard trotted up next to him, and Greg trailed farther behind.

"Says who?" Molly asked triumphantly, her voice coming from somewhere up above. Redbeard bumped John's arm with his head, getting his attention.

John looked at his horse, then up at the wall. His shoulders slumped. _"What_ are you doing?"

Molly continued to haul herself up the rock face. "I'm… going to see… my uncles."

"You're going to kill yourself." John's voice was so deadpan that Enola had to hold her giggles back. The two of them continued to watch as Molly struggled up the rock, trying several different footholds. "I wouldn't put my foot there." As he spoke, her foot slid off the hold.

Molly grunted in frustration and tried a different spot. "You're distracting me."

"Or there." That, too, gave way. "How do you know that the princes even want to _see_ you?"

"You know what? I'm just going to block you out, because I've got to concentrate here."

John crossed his arms. "You know, most people who disappear into the mountains want to be alone."

"No one wants to be alone!" Molly objected stubbornly. Then she reconsidered. "Except, maybe, you."

"I'm _not_ alone," John denied. "I have friends, remember?"

"You mean the love experts?" Molly scoffed.

"Yes, the love experts."

There was a pause, and Molly clung to the side of the cliff desperately, not daring to move. "Please tell me I'm almost there!" she gasped. Of course, she wasn't; she'd only made it about two or three feet off the ground. "Does the air seem a bit thin to you up here?"

John chuckled. "Okay, hold on." He started to step forward, arms open to catch her if she fell.

"Hey, guys?" Greg called from the left. John turned to look at him; he hadn't even noticed him pass them. "Not sure if this is going to help, but I've found a staircase that leads exactly where we wanted to go." The sarcasm in his voice was strong and thick.

Molly laughed in triumph. "Thank goodness!" she exclaimed. "Catch!" With that word, she let go of the rock and plummeted to the ground. She landed square in John's open arms and laughed. "Thanks! That was like some crazy, trust exercise." She hopped out of his arms and onto the ground, leaving him staring after her, confused. He grabbed Redbeard's reins and led the horse toward where Greg was waiting for them.

Beyond the rock was a wall of thick, solid ice, towering high above their heads. The wall was carved to look as if it was made of real bricks, instead of one large piece. At certain places, watchtowers stretched into the sky, and Molly could see shapes moving along the top of the wall from tower to tower, but she couldn't make out what they were. Past the wall was a massive palace made entirely of ice. It shined purplish-blue in the sunlight, making it seem supernatural. Peering through the translucent wall around the castle, Molly could see a staircase that led from a door in the wall to the door of the palace.

John gasped beside her. "Now _that's_ ice," he murmured dazedly. "I might cry."

"Go ahead," Molly reassured him. "I won't judge."


End file.
